Horatio
by CaTigeReptile
Summary: In the year 2371, three turned into two. Now it's the year 2387, and today, two turned into one. A young man on a bus meets him.


Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, nor do I own the characters or storylines associated with it. I make no money off of this.

Other Disclaimer: This story does not reflect my personal views about the concept of god or religion. I don't have any views about those concepts. Or about Shakespeare. I try to be neutral about Shakespeare.

Third Disclaimer: Except for Bad Religion. "Struck a Nerve."

Final Disclaimer: This did not have a Beta. I didn't even read over it. I don't know if it makes any sense.

Okay, actually last Disclaimer: I know I ignore the Fabulous Four, I'm sorry. I wanted to mention somewhere like "at least it wasn't four" in reference to Scotty and Chekov not actually being dead, but I couldn't fit it in.

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Horatio

An old man is sitting next to me. He sits on the last seat of the front section of the bus, the section for the elderly and the disabled. He is ancient, tiny and frail, with the most tired, pale eyes I have ever seen. He is tremulous with old age. I feel like I recognize him, but I do not know anyone so aged.

He switches on a handheld news projector and begins to read. He sees the front page headline: the destruction of Romulus, and the disappearance – most likely death – of the famous ambassador Spock. He turns off the projector, and then he has that death-stare, the one that my grandfather would give while in hospice. But something about it isn't quite right. His eyes are still alert.

He's trying so hard, but he just isn't dying.

Then he snaps out of it with shake of his head and a little laugh. He turns to me because he knows I'm watching, and his grin is very charming. It looks like it should be accompanied by a twinkle in his eye, but it isn't.

"Don't pay me any mind, son. I'm just a senile old man. I don't mean to scare you." His voice matches his age, almost faded away, but he has a wonderful drawl. It's a shame that it's so empty.

I don't know how to respond to him because I don't know why he's talking to me. I am ashamed that I can't stop these words from coming out of my mouth: "You look so familiar."

He chuckles, dropping his head to glance at the device in his hand before putting it in his pocket. He looks at me again and extends his hand. I shake it carefully because his hand is so fragile.

"Y'know, when I look into a mirror, I say the same thing."

Then it dawns on me. I am eye to eye with a living legend among legends – and, according to that headline I just saw, the only one left.

"We used to play pretend when we were little – my friends and I, I mean," I babble with inappropriate giddiness, "we'd switch off, and it was so much fun to be Doctor Leonard H. 'Bones' McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise!"

He smiles a genuine smile at my excitement, sharing in the nostalgia, although his was real.

"Yeah, it sure was fun. Leonard Horatio McCoy, that's me."

I had forgotten that Horatio is his middle name. The irony is palpable. I gaze at my hands on my lap, because I am overcome with grief for him.

I feel his trembling hand on my shoulder. He's trying to comfort me when it should be the other way around. I look up into wise old eyes.

"Don't worry about me, son. If I know one thing, it's that none of us were gonna die of old age," he says before pausing to smirk and roll his eyes upward – I can't tell the emotion behind it. It's just like the video logs from the five-year mission when he looks back at me and raises his eyebrow:

"Well, _almost_ none of us."

I smile a bit, I guess, because I don't know what else I should do. He sees that I am at a loss, so he continues.

"Don't you worry about them, either," he smiles, and I imagine that I see a faint glimmer of life in his eyes, just for a second, as he continues, "let me tell you, neither of those two could've gone out with the whimper of old age. Both had to go out with a bang. If they just faded away – _that_ would've been a tragedy."

"Really?" I respond, not knowing if I'm even asking a question. No matter how right a death may seem, no one is immune to bereavement.

"Well, my plan was to never see that tragedy. I was already an old coot a hundred years ago on the Enterprise, Jim seemed immune to death, and Vulcans pretty much live forever . . . so I thought my chances of being the first to croak were pretty good."

I'm about to say that it was one hundred twenty two years ago that he joined the Enterprise crew, but I stop myself, which is good because he isn't done quite yet.

"A little selfish, I know, and I'm paying for it," he chuckles and looks up to the sky again, blocked by the ceiling of the bus, and shakes his candy cane at the heavens. "God never did let me get away with anything."

Now I see in front of me a tragic old man, so lonely and so tired. The bus comes to a stop, and it must be his, because he grabs his cane and uses it to push himself up off the chair. Is this really how the story of Doctor Leonard Horatio 'Bones' McCoy, one of the Universe's greatest heroes, is going to end?

"Well," he smiles, "this is my stop. Glad to meet you."

He starts to hobble off, and I am still astounded.

"God?" I repeat. "How could you still possibly believe in a God now?"

He stops, looks over his shoulder, and smiles at me.

"My father used to say that God doesn't bring us pain despite that we believe, but rather God brings us pain because God believes in us."

And then he's gone.


End file.
